Detention
by StarsAboveInMyEyes
Summary: In which Sirius discovers the reality of his godson’s detentions with the new DADA Professor. Starts during ‘Christmas on the Closed Ward’ in Ootp.
1. Nap

**Disclaimer:** I wanted this story to closely mirror the books despite being an AU of sorts so it contains, on occasion, material that has been quoted directly from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ by J. K. Rowling. Said material has been underlined and does not belong to me. Reviews and criticism will be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

———

Christmas at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was, for once, more than just a stiff formal affair of velvet robes, bejewelled candle-holders and gift cards with veiled insults in envy-green ink. In fact, not even Kreacher the house-elf could deny the cheery atmosphere as he went about his way, muttering age-old barbs which the others were too happy to attempt at deciphering and smuggling some of Mistress Bella's pictures while his Master was preoccupied with the celebrations.

Despite the suspicious behaviour of his house-elf however, Sirius Black could do nothing but smile jovially as he leaned against the wall and sipped his Butterbeer, beaming as he watched the flurry of activities unfolding in the living room and realising that the night truly was going far better than he'd expected.

One one side of the room, Arthur was entertaining Tonks with exaggerated explanations of bizarre Muggle contraptions like the "Felly-tone" and "Telly-fission" while Molly and Remus discussed school caretakers and teachers, exchanging fond memories of nights spent sneaking out to the grounds or flying in the hallways on shrunken broomsticks. Meanwhile, the twins were engaged in a two-on-one Chess match with Ron, who merely rolled his eyes as they continued pointing and whispering conspiratorially at their shrieking pieces for their next move while Ginny watched and Hermione read. Harry, on the other hand, lay far from the crowd, curled up in a chair in a corner by the fireplace, an open book resting on the bridge of his nose as he slept through the noise. His glasses were crooked and his hair was messier than ever, sticking up even more noticeably to Molly's intense disapproval. Sirius smiled at the sight, the feeling that only a cheerful Christmas evening could bring intensified by the fact that he hadn't had one in fourteen years.

Feeling strangely fulfilled and satisfied, he downed the rest of the bottle and decided that a meeting with Minerva was in place. He'd send her a Patronus later tonight - he'd been meaning to ask her about the new DADA teacher ever since Harry's letter had described her as being 'almost as nice as his mother', but had forgotten due both to the long and lonely weeks spent drinking in the kitchen and the attack on Arthur in the Ministry. Besides, Sirius thought, Harry didn't need another scar on his face and that book wasn't doing him any favours.

Sighing serenely, he got up and grinned at Remus before trudging to the fireplace. Weaving around the cluster of armchairs and their occupants, crumpled wrapping paper and Chocolate Frog cards, Sirius bent over to pick the book off of Harry's face as Crookshanks pawed at the sleeping boy's hand, purring loudly. He chuckled softly when Harry's hands twitched weakly as the book was taken gingerly away.

Unsurprisingly, it struck him yet again as to just how much he resembled his father, especially now, with his eyes closed. Sirius could almost picture his best friend in the chair, snoring away as he often did in the first couch he saw after long Order missions or visits to St. Mungo's. Pushing away the sudden but familiar burst of nostalgia and grief, he shook his head and placed the book on the nearest clutter-free table while Crookshanks purred even louder as he continued vying fruitlessly for Harry's attention. Sirius was surprised the kid hadn't woken up yet; Harry was a light sleeper, something that James _definitely_ hadn't been.

"Stop that," he snorted, grinning and reaching down to pick the orange cat (that had done him one too many favours to count) off the floor. Before he could do much more than pet him, the feline hissed and gave Harry's hand one last pull and it turned over, catching Sirius' attention.

All thought of James and Crookshanks flew from his mind at the sight that greeted him, his mouth falling open as he tried to take it in. Harry's hand was bloodied and swollen, clutching a poorly wrapped scarlet-splotched handkerchief, the words _I must not tell lies _glinting on the pale skin like a ruby encrusted carving. The bruise contrasted heavily with his godson's calm asleep form, a blot of evil tarnishing the picture of peace his eyes had previously captured. His brain seemed to have flat-lined; he gaped, open-mouthed and wide-eyed at it for several minutes before snatching Harry's wrist as hundreds of possible explanations, each one worse than the last, raced through his mind.

Harry's reaction was instantaneous - he shot up, blinking blearily as he instinctively tried to wrest his hand from Sirius' grip, glasses resting lopsidedly on his nose. He looked from his godfather, who was staring at him with a horrified expression on his face and wrath in his eyes, to his hand, before running his other through his already untidy hair.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, and Sirius would've laughed at the words had the situation not escalated so horribly. "Nothing much, honestly."

"You and I have very different ideas of what qualifies as 'nothing'," he said solemnly after a pause, standing up and pulling Harry to his feet by the shoulder. "C'mon, we need to talk," he added, almost hating himself for saying the exact same words that had driven him up the wall in panic when he'd been a teen. Without waiting for him, Sirius strode across the living room and to the staircase, ignoring the boy's exhausted sigh and the underlying flash of hurt that he hadn't confided something like this to him.

"Moony," he called, the nickname sounding extremely silly coupled with his grim tone. The adults silenced and Remus looked up. "Floo Albus and Minerva for me. Tell them to be here in an hour - it's important." He added the last part when Remus opened his mouth, looking ready to argue for the whole night if need be. Before he could do so, Sirius rushed up the carpeted stairs, Harry grimacing weakly at the room at large as he followed.

———

"Explain," Sirius said the moment Harry shut his bedroom door behind him. He had (in a stroke of Slytherin cunning he'd hastily tried to smother) led them to the room his godson shared with Ron, feeling that he'd talk more if he was in a familiar environment, particularly one that displayed his clear control over the surroundings rather than Sirius' own bedroom. Harry sighed heavily and huffed in clear exhaustion as he slumped onto his bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Sirius couldn't decide whether the action made him look five years younger or older.

"It's ... it's nothing," he finally relented, not meeting the other's eyes. "Nothing you need to worry about, really," he shrugged.

Sirius rubbed his temples, wondering how much longer he'd be able to go before he threw a fit and chucked something out of the window (the ugly Chinese vase in the kitchen was very tempting) or ran off for a shouting match with mother dearest's charming portrait just to have something to do. He was already running out of patience, his anger at whoever had done this to Harry mixing with his desire to leave the house and creating a vicious whirlpool of thoughts and plans, most of them leading to unpleasant Azkaban-entailing situations.

Shuddering at the prospect, Sirius inhaled calmly (or tried to) and mentally counted to ten in every language he knew (which didn't take much time seeing as he could barely speak two) before squaring his shoulders and trusting himself to speak again. He was an adult now, one who had escaped prison to commit the crime he'd been convicted for (only to fail and end up imprisoned in his childhood home) but still an adult regardless, and he absolutely _refused_ to lose his temper over Walburga Black's less-than-nostalgic memory and the Ministry of Magic's unlimited incompetence.

"Harry, it's not _nothing_," he started but his voice shook with barely suppressed rage. Pausing to gather himself, Sirius found his eyes darting to the beds in the room, the mess of sheets that was Ron's bed contrasting sharply with Harry's perfectly made one, his thoughts drifting to Regulus and his time in this wretched house, causing him another bout of hollow angst.

Merlin, this place was the definition of suffocation.

Finally levelling his voice to a reasonable tone (and his mind to a similar pace), he began again, "Harry, whoever's doing this to you - they're bloody arseholes - and people like that deserve to be punished -" Harry's face soured darkly at those words and Sirius stopped, a sudden chill going down his spine. An icy thought had struck him, as such thoughts often do in delicate and dangerous times.

"That's it, isn't it?" he began quietly. "You were being punished. You -" Sirius paused, suddenly remembering a detail from one of the few letters they had shared this year. "You said you were getting in loads of detentions with - with the Defence Professor! Harry, it's the Ministry teacher, isn't it?" he exclaimed loudly, watching Harry for a reaction.

The boy nodded, eyes locked on the floor as he shuffled his feet. Sirius felt his stomach plummet at his expression; he appeared resigned and lost, almost guilty even. Before he himself could start feeling guilty over not fulfilling James' and Lily's last wish again, Sirius reached out and pulled their son into a hug, doing his best to be the reassuring godfather he'd always promised Harry he'd be when he'd been a baby. Harry stiffened for a moment, having clearly not expected it, before returning the hug. He rested his chin on Sirius' shoulder, gleaning comfort from the embrace, shoulders sagging with a vulnerability he rarely showed to others. They stood that way for a while until Sirius finally spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Last time I hugged you like this, you were the size of a teddy bear," he grinned, holding Harry at an arm's distance and realising with a jolt that the baby from his memories was almost as tall as him now. _Almost_, seeing as Harry was still rather short for someone his age. The now fifteen year-old boy's eyes brightened at that and he smiled wistfully.

"Wish I could've remembered it," he murmured, the corners of his mouth flicking faintly upwards as he gazed again at the faded floor. "Not a bad feeling to have on your back," he admitted.

Sirius frowned at that, wondering what it meant before saving the conversation for later. Right now, he had two Professors to calmly vent on and a Ministry toad in need of some serious control (and jail-time) and decided to let it slip.

"It's getting late but this is important," he started, checking his watch. "If Remus had his senses about him, then he Floo-called Albus and Minerva about forty minutes ago. Harry, I need you to show them what Umbridge did to you and tell them whether she used the Quill on any other students as well -" Harry looked about to protest but Sirius cut across him. "Blood Quills are _illegal_, Harry! Gringotts' Goblins are the only ones authorised to use them and they can only do it when writing wills or signing contracts! Using them on minors could result in more than enough time in Azkaban as well as a ban from Ministry and private offices."

Harry's eyes widened at those words, no doubt thinking about getting rid of the Ministry teacher _and_ embarrassing Fudge beyond return in the process.

"Er - yeah, I -" he started awkwardly but Sirius finished for him.

"Had no idea? Yeah, now you know why I wanted you tell me if anything nasty happened, eh?" he added, grinning and, in an attempt to conceal his frustration with himself, ruffled Harry's hair before turning to leave the bedroom.

Harry looked around sheepishly at that but nodded, mumbling a quiet but sincere "thanks" as Sirius shut the door behind him. It was strange how much a peaceful nap in an armchair by the fire could change, he thought, but right now he was glad that he'd dozed off in the living room, reminiscing fondly at the hug he'd shared with his godfather as well as Cornelius Fudge's spluttering face when his 'Ministry-approved' Defence teacher would turn up in his office not even mid-way through term yet.

——


	2. Knowing

_May, 1975._

_In the quiet suburban street of the otherwise lively town of Stinchcombe was a house guarded by a maroon maple door (and a number of protective spells) marked with a golden number twenty-one; in front of it stood an empty-eyed teenager, stoic despite the pounding rain and the biting chill in the air, both head and hair hanging limply as he moved toward the house. Although it was a rather uncommon occurrence (or more truthfully, one he knew to hide well), Sirius Black was not feeling himself to say the least, and the thunderstorm was not the reason. No, the gloomy weather was just an added bonus.__ His head hurt and his steel-grey eyes throbbed, bloodshot from sleepless nights, excessive yelling, and pent-up emotions; the privileges of being a Black, he thought bitterly._

_Sirius knew __that he could've just Flooed in through the fireplace - the Potters never minded nor questioned his arrival at their house, no matter the time - but he didn't think he would've been able to, not after what had just happened and when the reality of his own situation weighed so heavily on him like all the gold in his family's vaults at Gringotts. He climbed up the front steps, eyes downcast and a stony expression on his face as the cold rain soaked him through __to the bone, unrelenting and unforgiving in its quest to make him miserable, reminding him almost humorously of his mother._

_Hanging above the door was a rather plainly carved golden plaque, swinging every so often in the blowing wind. "Once for friends, __Twice for business, Thrice for threats,__" it read. Water steadily dripped from it in grey streams, puddling momentarily on the lacquered doorstep before trickling through._

_Stiff, straight-backed, and scowling, Sirius paused before reaching out for the bronze knocker and knocking once, the metal ice cold in his wet hands__. For a while, the only audible sound was that of the pattering rain and water sloshing down the road, a few Muggle cars honking in the distance as street lights flickered on.__ Then the door opened and Sirius stared at his shoes, face an expressionless mask as a defeated storm similar to the one he was standing in raged inside his eyes. James eyed his lowered head, a sharp contrast to the sophisticated and confident posture of the Blacks, looking __momentarily perplexed before realisation dawned on him and he gently grabbed Sirius's shoulder, urging him in._

_"C'mon, Sirius." _

_It was the sound of his name being spoken so softly and with such care that finally cracked Sirius's demeanour. He stumbled forward, letting go of his trunk and wrapping his arms around James, who didn't seem to mind at all that he was sopping with rainwater. He shook slightly, a few undisciplined tears escaping his eyes and onto James's shoulder (which already had a wet patch on it from Sirius's sleeves), hoping the other boy would perceive it as shivering and not notice it. Although the sting of rejection was fresh, Sirius felt a momentary calm overtake him, rather like a balm. The two friends stayed that way for a few uncounted __moments before separating, the front of James' shirt now thoroughly soaked as well._

_"Prat," James __murmured as Sirius let go, smiling lightly at him. He dragged the trunk in while Sirius trudged inside, perfect posture gone and__ shoulders slumped but appearing somewhat lighter, clearly exhausted as he crossed the hallway. The Black dragged himself to the living room, waiting only long enough to cast a drying charm on himself before collapsing into the nearest sofa, one arm covering his eyes while the other hung over the edge of the armrest. A sharp _crack! _was heard as James ordered a house-elf to put Sirius's trunk in one of the guest rooms, followed by light and quiet footsteps that had sneaked up on one too many people and, when they stopped, a friendly and exasperated __huff._

_"Still as dramatic as ever, eh?" James smirked at Sirius's pained form, snickering when the other boy lifted his arm that had, till now, been hanging oh-so-dramatically to the floor and flipped him off. Chortling, James went to the kitchen to make some tea, adding a teaspoon of honey and some Fire-whiskey to Sirius's cup, his Mum's go-to recipe for whenever anyone was feeling melodramatic or, in this case, deeply upset._

_When he returned to the living room, his best friend was still draped tormentedly over the cushions, somehow managing to look graceful while still being a complete disaster._

_"I'll pour this down your shirt if you don't get up soon, Padfoot," he said and sat in the armchair opposite Sirius, shaking the cup lightly to show that he meant business. Sirius only groaned in response._

_So James sipped his tea in silence, eyeing the other pointedly every once in a while, knowing just how much that annoyed him. The steam over Sirius's cup eventually lessened to wisps, curls that danced alluringly in the air before diffusing away. It was after the performance stopped that Sirius finally sat up._

_"I feel like crap," he mumbled, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve._

_"You _look _like crap," James replied, setting his teacup down just as Sirius picked his up._

_"Gee, thanks, Prongs." James brightened at the use of the nickname. "Right ray of sunshine, you are."_

_James grinned, watching the fire thriving in the fireplace as Sirius gradually emptied the cup of tea, checking his watch every so often out of habit. He could sense the air tensing slightly when the teacup was, at last, put down but willed it to go away; Sirius had just escaped an intense situation, he didn't need to enter another one now._

_"I'm going to bed," Sirius finally declared, getting to his feet. Before he knew it, a house-elf had Apparated him in front of a bedroom. It was simply but warmly decorated, with plush pillows and thin but dark curtains, a far cry from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Crap with its heavy drapes and oily portraits, Sirius noted. He gratefully fell back into the bed, crawling into the covers as he imagined his life had he been named Sirius Orion Crap instead of Sirius Orion Black and concluding that it would've been much better than the one he was stuck in now. It took him about a second to fall asleep, feeling, with a sense of wonder, that he was where he belonged and safe at last._

_If only it had lasted long enough for him to not wake up a few hours later, shaking from dreams about pointing fingers and getting burned off the family tree as his ancestors' portraits raged along the hallways._

———

_1 September, 1972._

_"Sirius?" James tentatively made his way from the bottom of the dormitory stairs to the Common Room's __fireplace, Gryffindor colours splashed all around him. Sirius was sitting silently in front of it, staring distractedly at __the flames. He looked up at James's voice._

_"Hey," he grinned __but it was strained. "Fancy seeing you here, you were out like a log when I came to the dormroom."_

_"Yeah, well, I'd say the Welcoming Feast was a bit too welcoming this year," James grinned, remembering fondly all the tarts he'd eaten. He was sure that at least one of them had been a new recipe. Sirius chuckled, pushing a hand through his hair, and that was when __James noticed it._

_"What's up with your hand?" he asked for the second time that day, his eyeline following the thin bandage wrapped around Sirius's palm. He'd worded the same question in the train__ but Sirius had flicked it away as a story for some __other time__, distracting them with a new prank idea he'd thought of instead._

_"Oh, nothing, really," Sirius lied easily, stuffing both hands in his pockets. "Just a scratch I got from one of Aunt Cassiopeia's cats. Tried to kick it down the stairs after it messed up my broom at Regulus's birthday party." James nodded, secretly thinking that his best friend was a surprisingly talented liar and grimly congratulating himself for spotting it; Sirius never referred to his Great Aunt Cassiopeia as anything other than Crazy Aunt Cass, owing to the woman's many eccentricities._

_"C'mon, it's getting late. We've got to be early tomorrow or we'll miss the Slytherin Team's tryouts," James said, still wondering how crazy one would have to be to have tryouts this early, although he had to admit that it would ensure that only dedicated volunteers showed up __which would, no doubt, be beneficial._

_"Right," Sirius answered, following him up the stairs. The two reached the third-year dormitories and Sirius placed his hand on the door handle, about to push it open when James made a grab for it. The bandage was loose, already unraveling when James yanked it off, careful not to make the cut worse. He had barely read the words carved on his friend's skin when Sirius snatched his hand away, looking both angry and defensive as well as scared._

'Blood traitors have no family.'

_"What did you do that for?" he shouted, backing away from James, clutching his bloody hand to his chest as a few doors opened and students peeked out to find the source of the commotion. James said nothing and hurriedly steered Sirius down the stairs, past the others' curious faces and into the Common Room. Sighing, he settled into the over-stuffed armchairs near the windows, forcing Sirius to sit down as well._

_"I knew she was doing something to you," he murmured darkly, combing a hand through the tangled mess on his head that he called hair. "You looked off this morning too. And you didn't write as much in the summer and ..." he trailed off at the look on Sirius's face._

_"Didn't write as much, huh?" Sirius spat out heatedly, standing up from the chair. "So that's the problem now! Never good enough for anyone, am I?"_

_"No, Padfoot," James quickly back tracked, eyes wide. "That's not what I meant. You sounded so ... distant__. I was worried. I tried asking Mum if we could visit but she isn't exactly on good terms with your family," he hesitated, suddenly remembering another detail that had worried him over the summer. "Sometimes I saw red smudges on your letters, Sirius!" The Black stared morbidly at the floor, almost uncaring it would seem, but James knew that he was just used to it and didn't want to 'make a fuss'. They stayed quiet for a minute before Sirius huffed and plopped back onto the chair, arms folded and glaring at some point on the ground._

_James waited, not wanting to upset him further but knowing that he would end up asking the question anyway. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked, voice toneless._

_Sirius shrugged as if to say he didn't think it was important._

_"No point, was there? Telling anyone," he conceded. James opened his mouth to disagree but Sirius cut across him. "Look, I appreciate you talking to me but it's not going to change anything. The Ministry can't confiscate the Quills, my family's too well-connected for that. McGonagall, heck, Dumbledore, could send her a letter but that would only make it worse. She'll get mad that I blabbed," he paused, lowering an eyebrow as if considering a grave possibility. "And I _won't _blab. You're the only one who knows about this and no one else can!"_

_"But why, Sirius?" James asked, wringing his hands together__. "At least tell Pomfrey, she could heal the cut," he suggested._

_"No," the Black shook his head adamantly. "I'll just order some Murtlap by Owl Order. It works fine." He said the last part as if to end the conversation and, sure enough, got to his feet._

_"Sirius, wait," James put a hand on his shoulder. "_Why _don't you want to tell anyone? Maybe someone can get you out of ther - "_

_"No one can__, James!" Sirius bellowed, pushing him away. "They're my parents! My legal guardians! _They_ decide where I go and what happens to me! If you're suggesting I murder them in their sleep then please, keep your advice to yourself!" James felt anguished, wishing that his friend's words weren't true. He thought it must've shown on his face because Sirius's tight posture slackened._

_"And I can't let them get to me, okay?" he__ continued in a much calmer voice, as if to reassure himself. "I can't give her the pleasure of showing weakness. I can't be vulnerable."_

_With that, the boy left for bed, not knowing that his best friend was biting his lip in worry at how much his parting words had sounded like a chant, like a decree from a hastily written rule book to protect himself._

———

"I can't let her get to me, okay? I'm not giving her the pleasure of showing weakness. I'm not _being vulnerable,_" Harry spat the words out, refusing to look at the other three people in the room.

It was this resolution, more than anything else he'd seen or heard that day, which drove Sirius over the edge. A sense of _deja vu_ shot through him and he froze; anxiously watching Harry as the boy crossed his arms and glared at the floor, the lenses of his glasses glinting in the firelight. Sirius could almost see the tiredness in his eyes through the fiery reflections and wondered how much he really knew about his godson.

"Harry," he reached out to touch his shoulder, voice hoarse. "This isn't about ... about _showing weakness_. That woman is torturing you. This is wrong. It has nothing to do with - with vulnerability." Sirius forced himself to say, pushing the possibility that Harry's childhood had been similar to _(or worse than)_ his to the back of his mind. He would think about that later; now was not the moment for being woeful, especially since both McGonagall and Dumbledore were his present company.

Normally, this would be when he'd start pacing around but since he had chosen, for some godforsaken reason, to have this talk in the family-tree tapestry room, Sirius knew it would only aggravate him further. So he made himself stand still and, with even more difficulty, try to reason with Harry. Before he could even start however, his ex-Transfiguration Professor came to his rescue.

"Potter, if you and the other students take this case to the Wizengamot," she began and Sirius thought that the words sounded infinitely more reasonable in her voice. "Then parents will be enraged. They won't tolerate having their children get taught by a woman who is perfectly prepared to torture them."

"Indeed, Minerva," Dumbledore agreed, speaking for the first time since he'd seen Harry's hand, the anger evident in his tone despite his calm voice. "I can file the court order and the Wizengamot can try Dolores, but before that can be done we must gather as much evidence as possible," he reasoned tiredly. Sirius bristled. He hadn't missed the way Dumbledore had not looked directly at Harry throughout the whole exchange, excepting when he'd checked the cut from the Blood Quill on his godson's hand. Did he think Harry's testimony wasn't enough?

"Is Harry's word not enough, Albus?" Sirius inquired. "We need to get rid of that woman as quickly as possible. I'm not letting her hurt him again," he said coldly.

Silence reigned as Dumbledore peered at him with his piercing gaze, looking about to say something before Harry spoke up instead.

"Professor Dumbledore's right, Sirius," he muttered dejectedly. "I'm supposed to be a nutter, remember? How can anyone know I didn't buy the Quill illegally and write with it just to dish dirt on the Ministry-appointed Defence teacher?"

Sirius didn't know what to say to that so he frowned, forehead creasing with concern and his mood shifting yet again. "Right," he admitted in defeat, to which Harry nodded, looking relieved.

"I'll check if any other students have scars from the Quills too," he informed them, self-consciously stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I have a record of my students' detentions, Potter," McGonagall said softly, nodding at Harry. Sirius pondered how odd it must've felt to have your teacher address you that way. It had certainly taken him quite a long time to get used to McGonagall referring to him as 'Sirius' and to start calling her 'Minerva' instead of 'Professor'. Although, both he and James _had_ tried to call her 'Minnie' after joining the Order but had ended up getting Transfigured to tables for a week. He smiled at the memory, even though standing up (and moving in general) had been hell after the experience. "You can ask the other Heads of House for their students' records as well and see if they're ready to help." She smiled weakly at Harry before wishing them a Merry Christmas and a good night and leaving, brisk footsteps echoing through the thick walls. Dumbledore soon followed suit after telling them he'd notify everyone when the time to file the case against Umbridge came, gingerly closing the door behind him.

Sirius cleared his throat uncomfortably as the air around them shifted, the room feeling suddenly all too old and dusty. He looked at Harry, whose shoulders had sagged, whether from exhaustion or relief, he couldn't tell.

"You should really get to bed. I don't think Ron and Hermione will sleep until you tell them what happened," he advised, remembering Molly's cross expression when he'd run into her after she'd emerged from Ron and Harry's room, clearly upset. "Molly will clean the cut up for you. I could get you some Murtlap Essence but I'm really hoping you won't need it now." He raised an eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged in response.

"You can never tell with Umbridge," he grinned darkly.

"Ugh," Sirius irritatedly patted him on the back. "You sound like James. He was up to his chin in dark humour sometimes." Harry's smile widened to a real one.

The seconds flew by as Harry returned to his room and Sirius thudded onto a couch, black hair attaching to the velvet material immediately, his back facing the hideous family-tree to stare at the ebony grandfather clock instead. Constellations shifted and twisted on its frame and Sirius couldn't help but thank the stars it didn't shoot lightning bolts like the one they'd confiscated in the living room; he'd liked the clock as a kid and it was nice to have a reminder of his childhood that didn't make him want to claw his eyes out.

Yawning, he raised his left hand to look at his palm, a thin white scar marring the callused skin: _Blood traitors have no family._

_Well,_ Sirius thought serenely. _There's more to family than blood._

He stood up and left the tapestry room, not thinking, for once, about the burn mark where his name had been stitched on at some point in the past. He wouldn't do so for quite some time.

———


	3. Absent

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_No student or staff member is allowed to leave the school premises (under any condition) without the permission by the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-five._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

The appearance of the 'Educational' Decree on the notice board a week after the Christmas holidays barely caused a stir in the Gryffindor Common Room, mainly due to the fact that the students were all way too used to the sudden but not unexpected measures the Ministry were using to steadily take control at Hogwarts and that the mass breakout from Azkaban was still fresh in many of their minds, which only worked to increase their disillusionment to the situation. It did, however, bring about a few more unflattering names that the student body used to refer to their Defence teacher.

"Fuzzy Old Toad," Ron murmured sourly, choosing to use the tamest of these names because Hermione was standing right next to him, an anxious look on her face as she bit her lip and stared at the glass-encased parchment, no doubt to stop herself from retorting the people around her who were using much less friendly names. Harry glared disgustedly at the Decree before shaking his head and edging through the crowd, the other two on his trail.

"How d'you reckon Hagrid will get on with his Gamekeeper duties now?" Ron asked, breaking the silence as the trio hopped from the portrait hole and left for the Great Hall.

"He'll get along fine," Hermione answered him, glaring at a second year who was about to slide down a staircase's railings. She pulled the scowling boy back to the ground and hurriedly told him off before returning and continued. "The Forest's only off-limits to students but even we can enter it under specific conditions," she explained, remembering the detention she'd had to serve inside it in her first-year and shuddering. "Anyway, it's not technically part of school premises but teachers can consider it so, in a way. Professor Kettleburn visited it all the time during his term. Also, it's in the Gamekeeper job to deal with matters concerning the Forest so Hagrid most likely won't have a problem."

Ron nodded, wondering silently how she knew all of this before the answer hit him in the form of a heavy leather bound book being thrust aggressively in his arms.

"If you would just read _Hogwarts: A History_, I wouldn't have to spend half my time alive lecturing you about stuff like this, you know!" Hermione huffed indignantly at him and Ron pushed the book back, grinning widely.

"Why bother?" he raised his hands questioningly. "You know the whole thing cover to cover anyway." The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched before she smothered it and strode ahead of them in a dignified manner, chin in the air as her bushy hair bounced gently in her wake. Ron shook his head amusedly and wrapped an arm round Harry's shoulder, deciding that he'd at least _try_ to make their time at Hogwarts less miserable while Umbridge was still here.

"How much d'you think the Old Toad will cough today before she chokes on air and falls off her stool like last time?" Ron asked, remembering their previous Divination lesson. After 'hem-hem'ing for fifteen minutes straight in her dark corner in the sherry scented classroom, the High Inquisitor had ended up having a high-pitched coughing fit and fallen off her perch, much to the students' delight. Professor Trelawney had giggled hysterically at the sight before falling into just as hysterical tears, something the class had all pointedly ignored until the Defence teacher finally dusted herself off and left for the Hospital Wing, failing to hide her sprained wrist as horribly as the Divination Professor had her hysteria.

"Dunno," Harry smiled for the first time that day. "Maybe she'll sit near the window and fall off the Tower this time."

Ron snorted, entertaining himself to an image of the shrieking pink-clad Professor whooshing down to the ground, past Sir Cadogan's portrait and - he quickly erased the image from his mind; the smell of breakfast loomed around the corner and Ron didn't think he needed to lose his appetite just now. Indeed, he thought wisely (or rather, hungrily), how was a person supposed to be cheery when their stomach obviously wasn't?

———

Moonlight refracted through the tainted glass windows of Hogwarts castle, casting watery and colourful shapes on the walls. It was a chilly February night and Minerva McGonagall was tiredly walking away from her office, weighed down by a stack of her students' essays as well as a box of the Second Years' cross-elementally Transfigured needles, each distinguished by a tiny name tag that she would have to painstakingly scribble a grade on later. She was exhausted, having done little more than scrutinise assignments and grade tests over the two months following the Christmas holidays. Her load of work had only been made worse by Albus Dumbledore's unexplained absences from the school, some of which would prolong to five days, worrying over whatever new scheme the Ministry would integrate into Hogwarts next.

She was a floor below the Headmaster's office when she saw a glint of silver, a gossamer thin strand shining in the moonlight and immediately made a beeline toward it.

"Albus!" she whisper-yelled hoarsely, flicking her wand to levitate her load beside her. The figure turned around with a swish of star-speckled fabric and gleaming beard, blue eyes coming off as almost icy without their usual twinkle. Minerva came to a steady stop at the sight; Albus Dumbledore was clearly in the midst of something important at the time and halting such things was often most ill-advised. So she changed tact.

"It appears to me that you have been quite busy over the past months," she began sternly, sounding as if she'd anticipated this encounter all day.

"Indeed, I have, Minerva," Albus confirmed solemnly, gazing distantly down the dim corridor.

"Well, I'm sorry to interrupt, Albus, but this," Minerva pulled open her bag."- is of utmost importance."

The Headmaster raised a feathery eyebrow at that and she reached into the bag, still hovering the clutter of the students' efforts beside her, sifting through it for a moment before pulling out a rolled up piece of parchment. It was a duplicate of the one she'd begrudgingly pinned to the Gryffindor Common Room notice board about two months ago, barely resisting the urge to burn it to fine ash. She held the worn out paper to Albus, who took it gingerly and scanned it through his half-moon glasses.

"Surely, you've seen this, Albus?" she gestured to the Decree.

"Yes, I have," he nodded.

"Then you must know what the Ministry is attempting to do here, is that correct?"

"Indeed, I do, Minerva. But you must understand, there are some ..." he paused, eyes hovering around the corridor as if searching it for the right word. "Things I need to do, matters that cannot be left unattended."

Minerva had expected that. She nodded tersely, knowing that this much had been obvious from the start of his disappearances but exasperated nonetheless. The two agreed to a meeting in the following week, Minerva's only reason for not having one the next morning being that Albus had informed her that he'd be departing soon after breakfast. She knew Albus had a plan to rid the school of Dolores; he just seemed too preoccupied to act on it, and if something could distract him from the safety of his students then it ought to be momentous.

This was the thought Minerva used to reassure herself as she swept away to her office, her anxiety somewhat quelled but still brewing. Upon reaching it, she immediately relieved herself of her floating burden and almost instantly turned into a cat.

Stretching, she crawled into her chair and curled up on her favourite feather-filled cushion, purring exhaustedly. The realisation that she'd made the right decision when she'd considered becoming an Animagus years ago comforted Minerva to sleep, her cat-form's simpler emotions only aiding the process.

'_Meow_,' was the last thing she thought before drifting off.

———

At the same time as the tabby cat dozed off in Minerva McGonagall's office, the door to Albus Dumbledore's was pushed open.

"Fawkes," he called, causing the Phoenix to look up, tilting his head curiously. He trudged to the bird's high perch, clutching a tied scroll of parchment in his wrinkled hand. The Pheonix clucked his beak expectantly and Albus smiled, pulling out a cord of his favourite electric blue string and tying the note to Fawkes's leg.

"Deliver this to the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Investigation Department, if you please," he instructed, stepping back as Fawkes gave a jerk of the head which he took to be a nod and disappeared in a flash of white light. The Headmaster proceeded to his chair and slumped into it, fatigued.

It had taken him two whole months to get where he was now and frankly, he felt rather proud, tired and muddle-minded, yes, but proud.

He reached into his robe pockets and pulled out a glass vial confining a bright milky strand of memory. Placing it on his desk, Albus swished his wand, causing the glittering container to whisk away into a drawer of the cupboard he kept his Penseive in, feeling more grateful of the simple magic locked in his fingertips than ever before. The drawer had been more full as of recently, now holding smidges of the experiences of almost every person directly and indirectly involved in Tom Marvolo Riddle's past. Bob Ogden, for one, had been extremely reluctant to give up his memory and it was only when Albus had impressed upon him the cruciality of his recollections that he'd finally agreed to lend them to him.

Finding Morfin Gaunt had been less difficult, Albus mused; despite most of the public thinking him senile, they still revered him, a strange yet useful weakness of the human conscience, he found, and he'd been able to visit the man in prison without any qualms whatsoever. After studying the last Gaunt's memories for days in his office, he had concluded that they had been most unfortunately tampered with; not only had they landed the man in Azkaban but they'd also let Voldemort escape unpunished for his misdeeds.

Right now, he hoped his message would incite an investigation of Morfin's case to be orchestrated; the news that they'd imprisoned an innocent descended directly from Salazar Slytherin himself would undoubtedly shake the Ministry to its core. With a slight creak of the knees, the Headmaster got to his feet, deciding that the time had come for some well-deserved rest. He pulled out the rumpled piece of parchment displaying Educational Decree Number Twenty-five from his robes and placed it on his desk; a reminder that there was other work to be done. Of course, Albus thought tiredly, there always was.

———

"You'd think that after they got the full story, they'd stop acting like I burned their wands," Harry snapped loudly, glaring at the huddle of students, all of different ages and Houses and wearing similar scowls, gathered outside the Charms Classroom, the bell ringing faintly in the corridor as he left for lunch with Ron and Hermione. He was sure that they'd been waiting for him out there and made a mental note to himself to check if anyone had managed to get their hands on his timetable.

"Harry, you didn't see the noticeboard this morning, did you?" Hermione inquired, exchanging furtive glances between him and the glaring students.

"No," Harry answered, frowning as he remembered the reason why; he'd been holed up in Umbridge's office for detention the previous night, a 'rightful punishment' for publishing his interview with Rita Skeeter in the March edition of _The Quibbler_ the day before. He'd been so exhausted during the aftermath that he'd practically passed out in his four-poster upon reaching the dormitory, hastily throwing on his clothes when Ron woke him up in the morning. "Did I miss something?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, hand deep inside her school bag, searching as they walked. "Umbridge introduced a new Decree today." With that, she flourished a scroll of parchment in front of him.

"You keep those with you?" Ron said, looking at Hermione as if she'd just confessed the desire to become a Blast-Ended Skrewt breeder.

"Well, yes," she rolled her eyes. "In case you missed it, Ron, we're operating an illegal Defence Association. So I thought it wise to keep track of our dear High Inquisitor's rules." Ron grumbled lowly in response and the two started bickering as Harry read from the parchment.

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_Any student found in possession of _The Quibbler _will be expelled._

_Furthermore, no student or staff member is __to contact magazines, newspapers, radio stations and other such public informational forums henceforth._

_Permission to do so may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

Harry fought down the urge to tear the paper to shreds and forced it into one of Hermione's wildly gesturing hands as she argued with Ron.

"That still doesn't explain why people keep looking at me like I'm a slug," he groaned, disgruntled. He thought he'd gotten away from that treatment when he'd finally escaped the Dursleys four years ago, only to have it pushed back onto him from those he'd considered, if not friends, people who were like him at the very least. Hermione appeared to detect his foul mood and sighed softly.

"Those students were from the Gobstones Club," she explained patiently. "They'll have to ask Umbridge to rejoin the writing team for _The Gobstones Globe_ and she doesn't exactly seem like she'll agree to it."

Harry's mood worsened at that. So a stupid game magazine was more important than letting the wizarding world know the truth about Voldemort's return? Were people really so absorbed in their own lives that they couldn't recognise the war brewing around them? He glared half-heartedly at the floor before continuing to the Great Hall, shoulders slumped and wondering why these type of things always seemed to happen to him. Couldn't he have at least one uneventful year at Hogwarts while he was still here?

———

February slowly faded into the past and April trundled over the grounds, leaving the dungeons warmer and the school emptier as students left to enjoy the sunset and the Giant Squid basked on the surface of the Black Lake. Being Deputy Headmistress however, Minerva McGonagall was often forced to sacrifice such days for the sake of her position, a task which the Gryffindor inside of her abhorred heartily. But mastering a trying subject like Transfiguration required one to master their emotions as well (for when a glass of water reverted to a thimble mid-sip or a gorgeous red rose in her hair turned back into the tissue paper it had once been) so she prided herself in her ability to push these desires aside, giving her the rare think-before-you-act distinction among Gryffindor House.

"Fizzing Whizbee," she said to the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, stepping onto the revolving staircase and inhaling deeply before tapping the door with the griffin-shaped knocker.

"Enter," Albus Dumbledore's soft voice answered her much less soft knock and she slid it open, footsteps sharp and brisk on the polished floor.

"Good evening, Minerva. I apologise for the short notice but I do hope I didn't disrupt anything?" the man asked before she could say anything, leading the conversation to start, as always, much more politely than she was used to after hearing teenagers complain about exams at every turn for a month.

"Good Evening, Albus," Minerva greeted, sounding strangely disconnected and shaking herself before speaking again. "No, you did not. The invitation arrived just on time. I was planning to talk to you regardless."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed, Albus. It appears to me that Dolores has cottoned on to your plan," she finally managed, almost sagging with relief at having voiced the thought that had been bothering her since Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven had come out a week ago. Albus drew the tips of his fingers together, gaze calm and collected but eyeing her curiously, making her feel much more like a sixth year trying her first Animagus Transformation rather than Deputy Headmistress of the school. "She's restricting us, Albus. Teachers have already been grounded to the school; she'll be after your position next."

The Headmaster nodded in response, piercingly bright eyes staring off outside the window.

"Then my timing is most fortunate. I have arranged to meet Cornelius in an hour today and if he doesn't agree to remove Dolores, I shall resort to putting our plan to action." Her eyes shot wide open at that.

"He's been avoiding you, hasn't he?" she questioned despite already knowing the answer.

"Yes, he very much has. I contacted young Percy Weasley about Cornelius's whereabouts the day Decree Number Twenty-seven came out but he refused, telling me that the Minister had forbidden him." Minerva frowned at the mention of Percy; she'd expected good things from the boy when he'd been a student but to her surprise, Albus chuckled.

"The last match for the International Wizards' Chess Tournament took place three days ago at Serbia," he continued, eyes twinkling in amusement. "I cornered Cornelius not long after he left from Belgrade. He appeared quite shocked when I asked him how entertaining the match had been when he returned to the Ministry."

The corners of Minerva's mouth twitched and she gave a small smile, thinking that for a hundred and fourteen year old man, Albus could act quite young sometimes.

"Returning to the matter at hand," he began, sobering instantly. "I must ask you to fetch Harry and any other students who can present evidence against Dolores." Minerva nodded, getting up, glad that her patience was finally reaping its reward.

"Do try to be inconspicuous about it," Albus added as she closed the door behind her, resolve solidifying inside her like stone. Little did she know that the very students they were trying to help would upend the situation in their faces in the next few minutes.

———


	4. Waiting

"Well," Cornelius Fudge smiled evilly, rubbing his hands together as he stared at the two people in the doorway. Harry shot him a look of deepest loathing, freeing himself from Umbridge's vice like-grip in a futile attempt at dignity. Fudge grinned even more foully as he turned to face Dumbledore. "Well, well, well."

———

The appearance of Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight around the school in the morning did nothing to dispell talk of how Albus Dumbledore had overcome the Minister of Magic, his Junior Assistant, two Aurors and the Omnipresent Toad herself, and achieved the impossible feat of leaving Hogwarts with neither hide nor hair. In fact, it's presence on the noticeboards only added fuel to the fire, with students fidgeting and whispering impatiently all the way through the morning classes, itching to know of any updates. Rumours flew about like paper planes as they exchanged theories about the previous night's events with their friends, murmuring and hissing to anyone who would listen. So as Harry entered the Great Hall for lunch, he found himself thoroughly unsurprised to see that more people were talking rather than eating, occasionally shooting glares at the Headmaster's Chair where Umbridge sat sipping pleasantly from a pink teacup.

He slumped onto the benches with Ron and Hermione beside him, pushing food around his plate as a tawny owl landed in front of them with a newspaper tied to its leg. Hermione untied it and paid the owl, unfolding the _Evening Prophet_ to reveal a large picture of Umbridge covering most of the front page, a short passage detailing Dumbledore's escape the day before and the Decree announcing the High Inquisitor's promotion to Headmistress printed under it. Around her, more people were unrolling newspapers as well, most of them groaning and discarding it upon seeing the headline. She frowned, taking a sip of pumpkin juice as Neville sat downheartedly near them, Ginny trying to cheer him up but only earning a few half-hearted smiles in return.

"Strange," Hermione commented as Ron eyed the headline ('_Dolores Umbridge Appointed Hogwarts Headmistress_') over her shoulder.

"What's strange?" he asked, absentmindedly picking his goblet of orange juice just as the owl bent over it to take a sip. "They already printed this in the morning paper."

"Exactly," she said, flattening the newspaper onto the table. She paused to squint at it before adding scathingly, "Never mind. I think they're trying to divert attention from this: '_Lucius Malfoy Rewelcomed on Hogwarts Board of Governors.'_"

"What?" Harry choked through a bite of toast, alarmed.

Unfazed, Hermione pointed to a miniscule picture of the eldest Malfoy in a corner, stuffed next to an article about a newly discovered species of singing cacti in Africa and read solemnly, "_After the sacking of Albus Dumbledore in a scuffle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last night, Minister Cornelius Fudge appointed High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge as acting Headmistress, much to the approval of parents from all around England._

_In a surprise move to 'rid the school of incompetent workers', Madame Umbridge initiated an investigation into the Hogwarts Board of Governors this morning and, in her first act as Headmistress, sacked senior member Cadmus Forrest over charges of bribery and corruption at noon. Forrest, who had been working for the school for over forty years before his removal, left without protest, expressing that he would 'rather not work with foul-minded toads anyway' (See page 20 for more details)._

_As his replacement, Headmistress Umbridge re-appointed Lucius Malfoy to work for the Board with the approval of Minister Fudge. According to Mr. Malfoy, Hogwarts has 'long suffered from negligence and a decrease in educational standards due to an unacceptable lack of control, poor leadership, and mismanagement.' He expressed particular concern about appointments to the Care of Magical Creatures post (See page 13 for more details) and the Prefect system, saying that it had been severely overlook__ed even when he'd studied at the school, having had many encounters with Prefects who had abused their powers before becoming one himself in an attempt to change it._

_'I am enthused about the changes Headmistress Umbridge shall bring to Hogwarts,' says Mr. Malfoy. 'We have already had in-depth discussions over the school's many problems and have produced efficient solutions for them. It is, I must admit, about time that us parents finally received a say in what our children learn.'_"

Hermione looked outraged at the article. Ron's ears had gone red and he glanced worriedly at Ginny, who was sitting nearby and had gone still and stony faced, hand clenched tightly around her fork.

Harry stared sinisterly at Umbridge as she ate merrily at the front of the Hall, trying to stem the disgust and hatred building inside him. A few years ago, he wouldn't have been able to name a teacher he hated more than Snape but now, there was no doubt in him as to who the stronger contender was. He glared at Umbridge one last time before they left the Great Hall, Ginny rushing ahead of them with a determined stance, her mane of red haired swaying boldly in her wake. For the second time in his life, Harry found himself seriously questioning whether or not to stay at Hogwarts, the first time being when he'd considered running away in the weeks after his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire the year prior. His answer however, remained the same.

———

"Does this remind you of something?" Tonks shoved a photograph in front of Sirius, frowning intently at it as he sat at the dining table with a mug of dark coffee in hand. He stared at it, eyebrows furrowing slightly and eyes raking in the details of the picture: dead tree leaves rustled in front of an eerie Victorian mansion, some blurry and others needle sharp in detail with branching wrinkly veins, the photograph's lack of colour enhancing its creepiness. Inky smudges covered the bottom, a wavy number 1 ghosting away on one side, as if someone had written down the address before deciding it would be better not to and rubbed it off.

"Looks familiar," he finally concluded, stirring the dark brew consistently. "Where did you get it?"

Tonks hesitated uncertainly before answering.

"I found it under the door of your brother's room this morning. Is it family property?"

"Hmm," Sirius pondered, scratching his head as he tried to remember where he had last seen the house. It definitely _was_ family property, reminding him of a vague Halloween spent at some cousin's before he'd started Hogwarts, although he couldn't remember whose house it had been. Had it been Aunt Elladora's? Or perhaps Aunt Lucretia's? Had Aunt Lucretia even owned a mansion or had she moved in to Uncle Ignatius's after their marriage? Or was it Uncle Cygnus's, seeing as the man had always been a bit of an antique-obsessed sadist? Or maybe he was thinking about the wrong generation and the house had been Great Aunt Callidora's or someone else's entirely. Sirius wracked his mind but couldn't recall anything useful, mostly just conjuring memories of overly large and heavy cloaks in ugly wrapping paper, awkward 'thank you's and chasing Regulus around the beach near their father's summer house, mainly to get away from their argument-addicted family and occasionally tripping over seaweed and rocks.

"It's family property, alright, but I dunno whose," he admitted, returning the picture to Tonks, who continued squinting confusedly at it. "I think it belonged to one of my Aunts, Elladora maybe. You can check the family pictures upstairs if you want, but I'm pretty sure Kreacher stuffed them away somewhere." He scowled at the thought, wondering where the elf had sneaked off to before deciding that the house was better off without him anyway and burying the thought with caffeine.

"It just looks ... off. I can't remember it but it doesn't feel like something I've never seen before either."

"Weird," Sirius commented, shrugging his shoulders when she raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, 'Really?' "You'd feel this way too if every Christmas you had till age twelve was spent at a different person's house," he raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. "I'm not sure I even know most of their names."

"Well, guess I can't blame you then. I never had the full Black family experience like you did, anyway."

Sirius snorted. "Consider yourself lucky."

"I'll take your word for it," Tonks grinned, pocketing the photo to investigate later. "Remus will be here in a while, by the way. Poor chap's probably exhausted from last night's watch."

"Still better than the load of dung I'm in," Sirius mumbled as Tonks left, stumbling over nothing whatsoever as she climbed the staircase and made for the front door. He thwacked his forehead when his Mum's demonic screeching slashed the silence to shreds, groaning at the distant "Sorry!" following it before the sound of the front door closing (barely) reached his ears.

"This is _not_ what I broke out of Azkaban for!" he yelled to the empty house and stomped up the stairs, wishing he could melt the portrait's face off.

It was only an hour later when Remus arrived that Sirius finally stopped brooding in the kitchen, grinning when the tired man reached the end of the creaky staircase and collapsed into the chair closest to him.

"You look terrible," Sirius said brightly, gratefully taking the _Daily Prophet_ from him and began scanning it.

"I've looked better," Remus admitted, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead sleepily.

"Need some tea?" he asked, rolling his eyes at an article about the Inquisitorial Squad's introduction at Hogwarts and how beneficial it would be, according to Lucius Malfoy, no less.

"Of course," Remus answered. "Add a pinch of something stronger, will you?"

"Alright," Sirius nodded, getting up. "It's Easter, after all," he added, as if it mattered. Within a few minutes, a steamy cup found itself in front of Remus, black porcelain with white carvings of wind patterns covering it, whirling and swishing around with each sip.

"Fancy," he said, thanking Sirius and sitting up, eyeing the cup impressively. Sirius shrugged.

"Uncle Cygnus traded the set with my Mum for some Acromantula venom."

"There's Acromantula venom here?" Remus took another sip, looking around as if expecting to see some leaking through the roof.

"And more," Sirius smiled dryly. The other man raised his eyebrows and he sighed.

"Third floor. First cabinet on the left in the hallway. Big flask shaped like a kidney."

"Thanks," Remus smiled, only to have it slide off his face a second later. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you something," he began, blowing lightly at the steam rising from his teacup. "You never mentioned Dumbledore's plan to -"

"Get rid of the Umbridge woman?" Sirius finished, leaning his chair on its hind legs.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'd say it was a pretty good plan," Sirius said, struggling to sound casual. "If he'd only acted on it earlier." The curiousity in Remus's expression increased. He paused glumly before continuing in a flat voice. "He wanted to contact Augusta Longbottom, said she could raise an alarm through the Wizarding Wireless," Sirius informed, blowing a strand of hair from his face. Remus nodded thoughtfully.

"That was a good plan. She's quite influential. I think parents would've demanded an investigation into the case at least."

There was a short silence, then -

"Why didn't he do it?"

"You think I know?" Sirius snapped, letting his chair clatter back on all four legs, unable to keep his calm demeanour any longer. "I kept telling him every meeting that he ought to follow up on it but no! He had important matters to attend to!" Remus appeared momentarily surprised by his outburst but the well-composed voice of reason Sirius had learned to expect over the years returned in a blink.

"Then he probably did," he sighed wearily. Sirius tried to protest but was cut off. "I'm not saying he had more important things to do than ensure his students' safety, Padfoot, but he was most likely preoccupied, probably with other just as important tasks."

Sirius was about to argue but re-evaluated his stance at Remus's facial expression, looking at Sirius as if he was a child who still wasn't convinced that there was no such thing as a left sock and a right sock. He huffed and folded his arms. "Whatever, Moony, it's too late anyway, now that she's _Headmistress_." Remus watched him glare coldly at nothing in particular, gaze analytical as he attempted to assess the situation.

"I'm guessing you want to talk to Harry?" he tried after a while, voice cautious. The effect of his words was instantaneous. Sirius deflated, defiant bearings gone and steely eyes staring dully at the floor.

"I just want to know if he's alright," he mumbled.

"And the house -"

"Isn't helping, yeah," Sirius admitted dejectedly. "But there's not much I can do, is there?"

Remus stayed quiet. The two friends sat in silence, one absently drinking tea while the other slouched in his chair. Although he tried to ignore it, Sirius couldn't help but feel James's absence more prominently than ever now and he suspected that Remus was thinking the same thing. Their friend was gone and it _showed_, not just in obvious things like the graveyard where he was buried or the son he'd never got to raise but also in the silences that often stretched thin between him and Remus, in the way he'd instantly recognise a habit or quirk Harry shared with James or in the decreasing frequency of their deer jokes and werewolf puns.

James was gone and their friendship was almost strained, two betrayals, countless deaths, and a war weighing down the string tying what remained of the great creators of the Marauder's Map, fraying it by the second even as they silently begged it to stay woven.

He knew that calling it 'forced' would be a lie; he'd die for Remus if it came to that and he knew that Remus would do the same and yet, he found himself wondering if their cherished friendship would survive another war. All of a sudden, Remus looked up and glared at him.

"Shame on you, Padfoot," he scolded, crossing his arms. "After all I've done, all the points we've lost together, all the lies I told on your behalf, this is what I get in return?"

Sirius stared at him incredulously before realisation hit him and he groaned.

"Ugh, I keep forgetting you're half decent at Legilimency," he voiced the thought this time, knowing that trying to keep it to himself would be pointless, his doubts about their friendship somewhat quelled. Remus shrugged in response, a discreet smile tugging at his lips.

"Twelve years alone and a public library membership does that to a person." He finished the last dredges of his tea, got to his feet and announced, "I'm taking a nap."

"You just had tea," Sirius countered.

"Tired," Remus said shortly, heading for the stairs. "Wake me up when something happens."

"Okay, see you in about a decade."

The kitchen door closed and Sirius sat lamely for a moment before exhaling dramatically. Almost on a whim and more to distract himself than anything else, he pulled out the two-way mirror from his pocket and placed it on the table, wondering why Harry hadn't called once. Was he okay? Were his lessons with Snape going well? Was he still getting into detentions with Umbridge? Was he so absorbed in O.W.L studies that he barely got time for anything else? Or did he get bludgeoned in the head by a rogue Bludger while doing homework in his dorm room? Seeing as he went to Hogwarts, Sirius didn't think the possibility was unreasonable enough to rule out.

"Bah," he mumbled sourly, guessing that he, like Remus, would just have to wait for something to happen. Given his life so far, it usually did after all.

———


	5. Reminder

The something Sirius had been waiting for happened in about three weeks, although, disappointingly enough, Remus didn't manage to sleep through all that time. He was sitting at the dining table, stirring a mug of creamy brown coffee, forming all the swirly shapes in it that he'd loved watching as a teenager, when the last person he'd been expecting to hear disrupted the little serenity he'd been able to get.

"Sirius?" a voice said from behind the dining table and Remus jumped, cutting the lovely figure eight he'd been making in the caffeine right through the middle. He whipped around and saw, among the smouldering coals and crackling fire, Harry's head in the fireplace, his hair wilder than ever from Floo travel.

"Harry!" he boomed, shocked, but worry quickly overtook his initial surprise and he blurted out a number of questions all at once. "What are you - what's happened, is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, looking around nervously, causing Remus to sag with relief, almost tipping his steaming beverage in the process. "I just wondered - I mean, I just fancied a -" he stuttered, not quite meeting the other's eyes. "\- a chat with Sirius." Remus's eyebrows shot up.

"I'll call him," he assured slowly, thoroughly puzzled. "He went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again ..." and he hurried up the carpeted stairs, taking two steps at a time and wondering what Harry must've thought so important to talk about that he broke into the Umbridge woman's office ...

"Bloody git, he actually hid the family pictures ..." Sirius's irritated tone could be heard through the door, the creakiest and oldest in the ancient house, to the attic, followed by a series of noisy crashes and vibrant cursing. Remus turned the serpentine door handle to find that something heavy lay on the other side, jamming it shut.

"Oi," Sirius's cautious voice cut off his efforts. "Who's there?"

"Remus," he answered. The door clattered open as a majestic marble statue floated away from behind it, a teal Chimaera coated in dust, and was dropped unceremoniously close to the filthy window, sunlight filtering feebly on its snarling face.

"What is it?" Sirius said, standing in a pile of broken china that made clicking noises every time it was moved and stuffing his wand in his pocket. A few more chips fell and ticked collectively as he stepped out of it, reminding Remus heavily of the keyboard on his father's computer.

"It's Harry," Remus replied, "he wants to talk to you."

In the span of a minute, he was back in the kitchen, Sirius running behind him.

"What is it?" he asked Harry immediately, dropping to the floor in front of the fireplace. "Are you all right? Do you need help?" Harry shook his head in response, looking anywhere but at the two Marauders in the kitchen. "It's nothing like that. I just wanted to talk," he paused uncertainly, "about my dad."

Sirius and Remus exchanged looks of surprise but couldn't say anything as Harry quickly dove into the story, telling them about his last Occlumency lesson, seeing Snape's memory, the uncertainty he'd been feeling about his father and, when they'd reassured him that James hadn't been a horrible person and that he'd only seen one facet of his father's personality in the fifteen year old in the Penseive, that Snape had stopped giving him Occlumency training.

"He WHAT?" Sirius yelled furiously, causing the boy to jump.

"Are you serious, Harry? He's stopped giving you lessons?" Remus asked before Sirius could shout anything else.

"Yeah," Harry replied, surprised at their reactions. "But it's OK, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the -"

"I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!" Sirius announced resolutely, getting up from his crouch, only to have Remus tug him back down forcefully.

"If anyone's going to tell Snape it will be me!" he said firmly, wondering grimly if Snape's enmity with James stretched beyond the limits of a schoolboy grudge. "But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons -" he shuddered. "When Dumbledore hears -"

"I can't tell him that, he'd kill me!" Harry countered angrily, giving him a most Lily-esque glare, eyes seeming to glow in the backdrop of the fire.

"Harry, there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency. Do you understand me?" Remus impressed on him, stressing each word. "Nothing!" Sirius nodded fervently next to him.

"OK, OK," Harry relented, shifting his disappointed gaze between them. "I'll ... I'll try and say something to him ... but it won't be -" he quieted suddenly, eyes darting sharply around as if straining to hear something. "Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?"

"No," Sirius replied, checking the stairs over his shoulder. "It must be somebody your end."

"I'd better go!" Harry declared, vanishing from the fireplace in an instant. Remus turned to exchange a concerned glance with Sirius but the other man held up his hand, eyes focused intensely on the grate as if trying to remember something. About a minute passed when Sirius suddenly slapped his forehead, looking torn between realising something momentous and regretting every decision he'd ever made. Before Remus could say anything he grabbed a fistful of Floo powder from the silver pot nearby and tossed it into the fireplace before sticking his head inside it.

"Umbridge's office, Hogwarts!" he shouted. Remus let out an exasperated sigh, calling on whatever force had blessed him with the patience he'd depended on when he'd first become friends with Sirius Black.

———

Harry had barely managed to pull on the Invisibility Cloak when Filch burst in, determinedly surveying the office and murmuring frantically. He pulled open a few random drawers before reaching what must've been the right one and ogling at its contents in a star struck manner, a compassion glazing his eyes in a way that only ever happened when Mrs. Norris caught a particularly troublesome student and Filch got the opportunity to punish them.

As if she'd detected Filch's once-in-a-blue-moon ecstasy, Hogwarts' most detested cat peered round the doorway, eyeing her owner with a questioning "Meow?" The cats on the wall hissed menacingly at her. One kitten in particular slashed its tabby paws in Mrs. Norris's direction.

Filch snatched what could only be, based on his previous mutterings, the permission form for whipping students and waved it triumphantly at his cat. "See, my dearest! We can finally get those wretched germs back for what they've done!" He kissed the form and Mrs. Norris yowled encouragingly as the duo left the room, Filch with a rare spring in his step. Umbridge's wall-cats cats sniffed indignantly at the retreating Caretaker pair.

Harry slung his bag on his shoulder and made to stand up when the dying flames in the fireplace roared to life. He stumbled back, alarmed, hitting his head painfully on the corner of Umbridge's desk.

"Ow," he hissed, swiping at his watering eyes to see who had emerged among the blazing coals.

"Sirius?" he whispered, staring at his godfather disbelievingly and quickly flinging himself to the other side of the room to shut the door. "Why did you do that? Filch was here just a second ago, he could've seen you!"

Sirius ignored his question, eyeline pointing somewhere on the left of Harry's head. "Never mind that! And don't take off the Cloak!" he ordered when Harry made to do just that. "I forgot to ask you something. It's important," he spoke quickly. "Did you open the package, Harry?"

"What?" Harry deadpanned, sifting through his mind for a memory of a package, thinking that the Occlumency lessons had really muddled it up.

"The present, the one I gave you after Christmas!" Sirius reminded urgently.

"Oh," Harry realised, remembering the poorly wrapped object Sirius had forced into his hand before he had boarded the Knight Bus from Grimmauld Place in January. "Er - no," he answered sheepishly. "I uh - forgot about it - sorry," he added when he caught Sirius's expression, a mix of hurt, disappointment, and annoyance on his face.

"Well, make sure you open it now," Sirius said in a firm voice, not meeting Harry's gaze. Harry opened his mouth to apologise again but Sirius shook his head. "Don't, it's alright. That was no easy week for you. Just promise me you'll open it."

"Promise," Harry did. Sirius nodded.

"Well, you should get going. Try not to break into any more offices from now. Bye," he smiled.

"Bye," Harry echoed as Sirius's head disappeared and the emerald fire whittled down again, getting to his feet and hurrying from the office. He just about made it to the Great Hall to witness the Weasley twins' epic departure, resulting in him dazedly dwelling on how bizarre the day had gotten as everyone left for their dormitories later.

———

"I can't believe it!" Ginny gesticulated wildly at the air, greatly resembling a rambling politician. "Mum'll be so mad! She won't care that they just made Hogwarts history and started a business, she'll murder them the moment they visit!"

"Ginny, I've been saying that since yesterday!" Ron mirrored her gestures, beaming as Hermione rolled her eyes at the siblings' behaviour. The two had gotten into one of their 'reverse arguments' again where, instead of quarreling aggressively and glaring at each other, they agreed heartily and smiled till their faces went sore over a certain point, each uplifting the other with similar opinions and supportive comments. She huffed soundlessly and forced herself to focus on the text of _Genealogy and Property: A Comprehensive History of Britain's Richest Magical Families_, distractedly wondering where Harry had gone to as the last Weasleys remaining at Hogwarts 'argued' loudly. She may have loved reading but Hermione knew that she was no introvert; having someone to listen to her rant passionately about something was always welcome (and sometimes essential), especially when said someone didn't interrupt and occasionally shared observations she herself hadn't noticed, even if they sometimes cut her off or, more rarely, asked her to stop. Perhaps she could bore Parvati later that night, she thought resignedly, if the girl hadn't gone to sleep already.

"I know, the look on Umbridge's face when the fireworks blew up! I wonder how they ever managed to make those things," Ron exclaimed cheerfully, eyes shining like pearls and causing Hermione to suppress a smile; it was rare to see him (or anyone, really) this happy these days and it was highly contagious.

Ginny nodded enthusiastically, combing a hand through her flame-coloured hair. "The toffees weren't _too_ surprising but fireworks? How did they ever find a place to make them that didn't burn to rubble?" She fell back into an armchair, seeming to finally notice that the Common Room had emptied completely but for them. Ron followed her in a chair beside Hermione, both of them seeming to have tired from their agreeability fest.

"What time is it?" he asked, yawning heavily.

"Quarter past eleven," Hermione answered without looking up, even though she wasn't actually reading.

"Blimey, I thought it was eight," Ginny groaned, draping an arm over the crown of her chair and a leg over the armrest. "You'd think that time would be nice enough to pass slowly when we're happy but _no_," she shook her head dramatically. "It's too much to ask for." She rolled onto the floor, becoming concealed behind the book laden table and, as an afterthought, voiced the question she didn't know was on Hermione's mind, "I wonder where Harry is? I haven't seen him since two hours ago. You two don't know, do you?"

"No," Ron denied before Hermione could. "He went to bed round nine." Ginny's head appeared above the table, a curious look on her face, ignoring Hermione's floating knitting needles in front of her as they clacked and strung yellow yarn together.

"Huh. Bit early for him, eh?" she commented.

"Harry stayed up last night studying for the History O.W.L," Hermione elaborated on Ron's lie, knowing full well that Harry wasn't asleep in his dorm room as they spoke, having seen him leave the Common Room an hour ago. "He said he didn't get enough sleep and went to bed early tonight." She forced herself to sound approving rather than worried which appeared to convince Ginny that they were being honest.

Nodding, Ginny wobbled sleepily to her feet and wished them a good night, yawning as she trudged up the stairs to the dormitories. Hermione counted all thirty-nine audible footsteps before the girl would be out of earshot of the Common Room and immediately turned to Ron, needles and half-finished scarf clattering onto the hill of books and tottering inkwell towers.

"You have no idea where Harry is, do you?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"No," Ron shook his head. "He just asked me to cover for him, said he'd turn up round eleven and left."

"Did he take the Invisibility Cloak?"

"Yeah."

"He didn't say what he was doing?"

"No, he didn't."

Hermione bit her lip, marking the page she'd been on for the past hour and closing the book at last. A short silence settled between them until Ron broke it by reassuring her in the most Ron Weasley-ish way possible - blunt and straightforward.

"Don't worry, if he was in trouble Umbridge would have come after us immediately, he's hardly ever messed up badly without us knowing or being involved," he pointed out. Hermione nodded, grateful for the grounded mindset that she supposed stopped Ron from overthinking like she did. She packed her things and waited impatiently for roughly six minutes before the portrait swung open, revealing the empty corridor outside it. Light footsteps could be heard over the Fat Lady's faint cursing, slowly getting louder until Harry materialised in front of them, draping his Invisibility Cloak onto the back of a chair.

"Where were you?" Hermione asked pointedly. Ron shot into a sitting position at her voice, looking around for a bit before he spotted Harry and grinned.

"Great," he said. "You didn't get caught."

Harry snorted, sitting down and pulling his bag off his shoulder. "I was going to tell you this yesterday but everyone was so excited over George and Fred's swamp prank so I saved it for today."

"Harry, it's almost twelve," Hermione interjected, pointing at his watch. He waved her comment away and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small mirror.

"It's a two-way mirror. I just talked to Sirius using it. He gave it to me on Christmas but I forgot to open it," he explained as Hermione turned the mirror in her hand, reading the scribbled note on the back.

"I've read about those!" Ron cut in, much to Hermione's surprise. She stared at him, bewildered, but he simply shrugged his shoulders and continued, "Dad brought this book home from the Ministry once, _Magic Beyond Reflections_. It came from the Department of Mysteries so I snatched it one night and read it in secret."

"Department of Mysteries?" she prompted curiously while Harry frowned, brows furrowed as if in in deep thought.

"It's the weird place where the Unspeakables work," Ron informed. "They never talk about it and the Ministry keeps it awfully quiet too, so most folks don't even know it exists."

"Hang on," Harry cut in, tone contemplative. "D'you know which floor it's on?"

"Er - second last, same as the Wizengamot court rooms, I think," Ron eyed him questioningly but Harry didn't say anything, still frowning.

"Well," Hermione interrupted his contemplation, "you'd better erase that note from the mirror, Harry, in case anyone finds it. Speaking of which, does Sirius know where Professor Dumbledore is? Did you ask him?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry replied distractedly. "But no, he hasn't got a clue. No one else in the Order does either."

And so the three fell into quietude, each lost in their own presumptions. Hermione managed to finish the sunlight yellow scarf and wrapped it haphazardly in some waste parchment, throwing it out in the corridor this time. She ambled to her dorm room after wishing the boys a good night, satisfied with the day's events, pondering if she could somehow get her hands on the book Ron had mentioned, extensive and difficult though it likely would be to access such a secretive place.

———


	6. Deceiving

A yell rang out in the Great Hall and caused Neville's letter _g_ to slice question thirty in half, followed by Padma Patil whirling around and accidentally smacking him in the face with her braid. Massaging his cheek, he turned grimaced at the sight: Harry Potter was on the floor, wide-eyed, shaking, and moving a hand away from his forehead. Professor Tofty ushered the dismayed boy to his feet, reassuring him while pelting him with questions as students like Ernie Macmillan rolled their eyes and returned to completing their paper; Neville was unfazed to see that Hermione Granger wasn't one of them, surveying Harry anxiously over her shoulder instead.

As Harry left the Hall, still looking thoroughly shaken, Neville sighed at the absurdly long letter _g_ stretching across his paper, redipping his quill in the fresh ink and hovering it over the answer space provided, realising that had he had a Remembrall right now it would be glaring red.

Deciding that it probably wouldn't make a difference anyway, Neville skipped question thirty as well as thirty-one, finally finding luck with thirty-two: '_The murder of Rosalie Rowle was the pivoting point of the 1807 war between wizards and goblins'. Testify the truth of the statement_.

Rosalie Rowle, Neville pondered, biting the inside of his cheek and turning the name in his head. She had been the war-time Minister for Magic back then and ... had been strangled to death by Devil's Snare implanted by a goblin in her office! So he began to concoct an answer, not knowing that the war circling them was soon to mark its next target as well.

———

"Harry?" Hermione poked her head into the dormitory, peering around and spotting, to her relief, Harry defeatedly sprawled across his bed.

"You all right, mate?" Ron said as they entered the dorm room and sat themselves on his bed, Harry acknowledging their presence with a nod.

"Fine," he confirmed in a flat voice, staring at the top of his four-poster, gaze unusually empty. Hermione bit her lip, refraining from frowning as Ron placed his bag on his blanket and leaned forward, eyeing Harry with concern.

"Harry, what's wrong?" she pressed, a new possibility occurring to her. "You didn't have another vision, did you?"

The panic in her voice seemed to have brought Harry back to earth and he sat up, looking detachedly at the far wall.

"I did -" Ron stiffened and she gasped, "but it was fake, a trap," and he told them what had happened, how he had fallen asleep and ended up having a vision of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries, causing him to panic and check on him using the mirror. Hermione nodded as he concluded the story, opening her mouth to ask him why he hadn't used Occlumency to block the vision but Ron beat her to it, looking Harry in the eye.

"That's not all, is it?" he asked, wringing his hands in his lap. Harry stayed quiet. Hermione's eyeline switched between the two, secretly admiring Ron's way of getting people to talk.

"Look, I'll - I'll tell you in a while," Harry finally relented, sounding so uncertain that Hermione had to restrain herself from reaching out to comfort him, knowing that she had no way to do so when she didn't even know what the problem was. "Just, not now."

Ron nodded, breathing out and falling back in his bed.

"Oi," he began, rising almost immediately. "I'm knackered, you don't mind a round of Gobstones, do you?"

"No, lets go," Harry stood up, turning to Hermione. "Are you coming?"

"Oh, alright," she agreed, deciding that she could knit a few more elf hats if she put her mind to it and going to fetch her yarn. "See you in a bit." And she swept outside, picking up a purring Crookshanks on the way.

"How about I make you a hat instead?" she proposed. Crookshanks burrowed further in her arms, tail swishing around lazily.

———

"Something wrong, Neville?" Ginny looked over his shoulder at the _Evening Prophet_, a stack of violet books marked with moving golden runes in her arms.

"Er -" Speaking while working through a mouthful of mashed potato was not a skill that Neville possessed so he pointed at the article instead, displaying a picture of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Lucius Malfoy standing proudly at the front.

"They're conducting an investigation," he swallowed and explained as she skimmed it, scowl intensifying with each line, "to make a report about school conditions. It's rather odd, isn't it? Why do it on the last two days of term?"

Ginny's eyebrows drew together in suspicion before she shook her head, sitting down next to him and pouring herself a gobletful of pumpkin juice while the books aggressively forced themselves into her already overstuffed bag. Two of them knocked violently into each other over which could stay outside until one crashed into a passing student and bought them toppling onto the Hufflepuff table.

"Who knows? Maybe he wants to show off just how well students perform when a Death Eater's there to supervise them?" Ginny suggested.

Neville nodded as she turned to apologise to the student and irritably began tapping each of the books with her wand, temporarily deactivating them. An uneasy feeling was brewing in his gut that he knew had nothing to do with his O.W.L performance or how hungry he was; his eyes roamed the Hall before landing on Umbridge, wondering how much would get under her nose without drawing even a whiff of attention before something went horribly wrong.

———

'Horribly wrong' was most definitely an understatement, Sirius decided as he turned the mirror in his hand, imagining what would've happened had Harry never opened it. He sat idly by his bedroom window, leaning his chair back while the wind howled and blew angrily on the glass panes as if offended by Grimmauld Place's secrecy, rattling them noisily on occasion.

A few silvery wisps faded into nothing as the dredges of his Patronus dissolved away, a gleaming silver dog gambolling across the sky to, despite being a manifestation of pure joy, deliver disconcerting news. He rubbed his temples, unable to think what Dumbledore would make of it all, and tried to remember when things had changed so much, when the war had gotten this suspenseful, when he had foolishly concluded that keeping himself holed up in his childhood home would go perfectly well, when Harry had started caring so much about him as to consider risking his neck to save his, and when, if ever, he would finally get to hear the Prophecy that had ruined his and Harry's lives and ended those of James and Lily; it was intricate and confusing, and Sirius usually wanted nothing to do with such things, but apparently his distaste for the complicated qualified him as the perfect person to be at the core of it.

All of a sudden, an animalistic screech reverberated from above, followed by a thud, a high throaty laugh, and a resonating _pop_!

"Bloody bastard," Sirius cursed Kreacher and ran toward Buckbeak's pained cries, thinking that perhaps the house could handle one more elf head on its walls, not realising that the two-way mirror lay glinting on the window sill in his bedroom or how much it would cost him in the coming day.

———

"Neville?"

"Mm?" Neville mumbled, sitting up. Without the Weasley twins wandering about anymore, he found that he had developed a habit of falling asleep in the Common Room while studying, although this time he had just been tired and everyone else had gone out to celebrate the end of exams.

"Granger sent this for you." It was Seamus. He handed Neville a small roll of parchment which he stared at, perturbed, before opening it. It was a note, written in a neat script that he recognised as Hermione's due to having spent hours poring over her notes in the past week, saying that the Board was interviewing students and asking them to fill surveys about the school and that Lucius Malfoy would be interrogating him at half past seven. He shivered.

"You okay?" Seamus asked, stepping into the portrait hole, a tiny purple bottle labelled with three very familiar W's in his hand.

"Yeah," Neville lied, tossing the note into the fire. "I have an interview session with Lucius Malfoy in the evening."

"Oh," Seamus grimaced. "When's it end?"

"Nine."

"Well, good luck."

"Thanks, see you in a bit," he said to Seamus as the boy left, a mischievous smile on his face. Groaning, Neville slid further down in his chair, Trevor jumping from one armrest of his chair to the other before attempting to circuit the whole Common Room using just the furniture. At seven twenty-five, he headed uneasily for McGonagall's office which was, offensively enough, being used as an interrogation room in her absence.

"Enter," a cool voice drawled when he knocked - Neville internally cringed at how much it sounded like Draco Malfoy. He braced himself and turned the doorknob, thinking yet again about how horrible a decision the Sorting Hat had made by placing him in Gryffindor, wondering if it had had the foresight that he would someday shudder before surrendering himself to experiencing a supposed Death Eater's presence.

"Sit," Lucius Malfoy ordered, face stony and gaze calculating. Neville did, feeling as if he had just entered the lair of a wild but intelligent beast and berating himself for not coming up with some kind of excuse to avoid this. He could almost hear his Gran's disapproving voice, scolding him for not being extremely suspicious or getting in a new hex before letting himself near a suspected Death Eater alone. Suddenly self-conscious, Neville eyed the papers on the desk and saw that the area in front of Malfoy senior was clear, not a single sheet of parchment or document on it. Nervous, he looked up -

\- and found a wand pointing right between his eyes.

"_Imperio._"

His mind went blank and he remembered no more.

———

"Hermione, the exams just ended! You really ought to let loose a bit."

"I only borrowed the Arithmancy book! And I'll give it back tomorrow, I just want to check the syllabus ..."

"You only got the Arithmancy _textbook_. Don't tell me you'll be able to read this -" there was a heavy and dusty _scree_ as Ron skidded the two thousand-page _Rune Records of the Middle Ages_ across the table in front of Hermione, causing Harry to stir from where he was falling asleep on the couch. "As well by tomorrow."

"I won't read the whole thing!" Hermione shot back, face flushed. "I'll just get in about half of it so I can practice in the summer. It's not that difficult, the text isn't even that small ..." her and Ron's voices trailed off in the distance as Harry's eyelids drooped and the world went blissfully dark, finally giving in to weeks of sleeplessness and exhaustion.

_He was in a long, dark hallway, the air still and chilly. A black door at the end of the corridor was ajar, a sliver of blue light calling him to it. Harry walked to it and pushed it to reveal the room beyond, circular and lined with doors every few inches from each other. __He chose the one immediately in front. It opened without protest ..._

_Colourful and blinking lights winked at him from all directions, ticking noises adding to the flurry of the strange place. There was another door on the far wall. Harry slid it open ..._

_Shelves upon shelves of spun glass orbs dominated the length of the room, some coated so thickly with dust that they didn't reflect the light emitted by others ..._

Row ninety-seven_, a voice hissed and Harry obeyed, hurrying along the aisles, curious to hear the prophecy that had caused the catastrophe that was his life so far in the first place ..._

Sirius_, he remembered upon reaching the area where he'd seen his godfather lie tortured earlier that day, except this time there was no one there. Out of the corner of his eye, a soft blue light glowed comfortingly ..._

_Heart racing, Harry reached out for the source, the glass oddly hot on his fingertips, spidery writing forming on it at his touch._

_Before he could read more than just the date on it, a shrill laugh echoed from the darkness, cloaked and masked figures emerging after it; Harry backed off as e__leven Death Eaters advanced behind the lone unmasked one, jeering sinisterly. N__ot one of them seemed to notice him, walking by him without sparing a glance ..._

_Leading them was a haunted-looking, tall woman whom he instantly recognised as Bellatrix Lestrange. She appeared to be dragging someone behind her, one of her arms pulled back as she walked ..._

_Harry's heart stilled as did the group before Bellatrix forced someone out from behind, pushing the black-robed figure to the floor._

_"Get the prophecy," she ordered, drawing her wand, "get the prophecy or you'll suffer the same fate as your parents!"_

_"No," the person whimpered and Harry's heart stopped.__ "Never."_

_Bellatrix scowled darkly before raising her wand, she slashed it in an arc and Harry didn't need to hear the incantation to know what she was about to do._

_"NO!" he yelled, throwing himself in front of Neville, only to skid right through him as the boy's tormented screams filled the hall ..._

_Through the noise, a high voice leered at Harry, a cold shadow passing over him._

_"Come, give me the prophecy, Potter, and I'll let your friend go ..." Voldemort hissed, "there's no one to stand in front of you now but your arrogance ... give it to me or let another die for you again ... you have until dawn ..."_

NO! The cry died in Harry's throat as his eyes shot open, a cold sweat trickling down his neck despite his proximity to the fireplace. Ron and Hermione were still arguing over Hermione's clacking knitting needles, Crookshanks jumping to claw at them every now and then, almost landing in the fire more than once.

Shivering, Harry sat up, trying to still his shaking hands.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, stumbling as he got to his feet.

"Oh," Ron and Hermione echoed at the same time, as if just realising that he had been there.

"G'night," they chorused as Harry climbed up to his dorm room, rubbing his aching scar and wondering how he was supposed to help Neville without getting himself killed in the process but his mind was too fuzzy, his brain too muddled to think straight ...

In the dorm room, Dean and Seamus were dealing a deck of cards, Muggle ones, Harry realised when none of them offered advice, insulted each other in old English or cursed raucously when the fingers holding them got too sweaty.

"Dean, have you seen Neville?" he inquired, smoothing his expression into one of slight curiosity, trying to sound casual.

"No," Dean replied, looking up. "He had an interrogation session with Malfoy this evening."

"It's supposed to end at nine," Seamus supplied.

"Right," Harry responded, closing the hangings around his bed. "Thanks," and, heart racing, he pulled out the Marauder's Map and started to search.

Ten long and desperate minutes passed before the search ended, the Map going blank after neither Neville's nor Lucius Malfoy's names appeared on it. Pulse quickening, Harry fell back onto the bed, struggling to think of a plan as the seconds ticked by and Dean and Seamus called it a day, the dorm room going dark following the end of their game.

———

A pool of moonlight shone over the room as Ron trudged to his bed not long after Harry had turned in, yawning with satisfaction. He stretched and let himself fall on top of the covers, gladly worming into them and falling asleep almost instantly despite the pearly glow seeping in from the window, the comfort of the fact that he was done with his O.W.L.s only aiding the process.

He was already having spider-free and Quidditch-heavy dreams by the time Harry sneaked out of the dorm room under the Invisibility Cloak.

———

Cautiously, Harry peeped into the noiseless classroom, finding it free of any human presence and slipped inside. Propping himself onto a desk, he reached into his pocket and took out the two-way mirror, hoping against hope that Sirius would pick up.

"_Sirius Black_," he whispered, enunciating each syllable clearly. The mirror remained as reflective as ever. A drop of panic trickled coolly down Harry's throat.

"_Sirius Black_," he tried again, a bit louder. Anxious green eyes stared back at him from the mirror.

Harry cursed, heart pounding, mind racing a mile a minute as he tried to formulate a plan, crescent moon shaped marks forming on his palms from how tightly clenched his fists were. A shiver streaked up his spine followed by a harrowing sense of realisation and he stood, horribly aware of the sound of his breaths and the rustle of his robes in the chilling silence, draping the Cloak over himself as he exited the classroom and made for the second floor. His hands trembled.

———

Wizarding restrictions were awfully easy to get around, Harry mused somberly as he opened the door to Umbridge's office, thanking Sirius while also questioning his sanity for giving him the lifesaver of a knife. Of course, he thought admittedly, there was Gringotts and among the few he knew who had ever broken in and escaped was a powerful dark wizard, possessed by Voldemort no less, but he still couldn't see how anyone could think that the other magical barriers he had encountered so far were competent; he, Hermione, and Ron had been able to surpass the protections for the Philosopher's Stone in their first year, all that was needed to subdue the Whomping Willow and enter the Shrieking Shack was to tap a specific root, the Goblet of Fire had failed to keep him out of the Tournament despite his being underaged, and now, at fifteen, he had broken twice into one of the most important rooms in the castle.

Yes, Harry exhaled slowly, wizarding restrictions were scarily simple to loop around.

He tip-toed into the room, cringing at the snoozing kittens on the ornate plates on the wall, multi-coloured bows gleaming in the silver of the moon. Shoving the Cloak in his pocket, Harry hurried over to the fireplace and tried to calm his thumping heart, taking a fistful of Floo powder and throwing it into the grate.

Tongues of green fire burned to life, giving the lacy and doily-covered office an odd emerald look, reminding him of the Dark Mark snaking in the sky after the Quidditch World Cup the year before. Jaw set, Harry took a deep breath, stepped into the flames and before he could rethink his decision, shouted, "Ministry of Magic!"

A whoosh of heat swallowed him and he spun around wildly, disappearing just as the door of the office banged open and a frantic Dolores Umbridge stumbled in to find it completely deserted, devoid of any intruders.

"_Homenum Revelio!_" she squealed desperately, orb-like eyes darting around the office. Neither spell nor sight betrayed anything.

———


	7. Cruelty

"I can't believe _she_ was in _Slytherin_."

"Honestly, and I thought she couldn't get any worse ..."

"Look at her, smiling at us like she's our mother, the foul, igno -"

"Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?" Draco Malfoy swaggered round the corner, sneering at the louring Ravenclaw as the remaining students trickled into the Great Hall around them, yawning and using the little energy they had to either grumble about or glare in disgust at Umbridge.

"Not in front of you, no," the girl replied, polite.

He grinned, fidgeting with his wand. "Ten points from Ravenclaw."

The girl only rolled her eyes, leading Draco to dock another set of ten, wishing he knew something about her to mock as he returned to the Slytherin table.

Overhead, the ceiling was an ocean-deep blue, verging on completely dark, the light of the approaching dawn barely muting the faintest of stars.

Draco folded his arms and leaned against a snarling stone gargoyle, its emerald claws hovering above his head as he eyed the teachers' table, where the usual chatter and discussion had all but died. The once talkative Charms Master sat wooden-faced next to McGonagall's empty chair, a silent Professor Snape scanning the Hall around him a seat away, not a dash of exhaustion in his expression as he did so. Near them, Professor Sprout stretched heartily, her hair looking even wilder than usual, and Grubbly-Plank lifted her ageing but strong hands to sip from a massive, steaming mug of something that stained her mouth a deep purple, blinking as if she were unsure whether this had been part of her job requirements or not. Meanwhile Professors Sinistra and Vector were sat near the ends, both women doing nothing to conceal their distaste at the state of things, the former glaring at Umbridge so resolutely Draco wouldn't have been surprised if she had been performing a jinx. Finally, at the front, the Omnipresent Toad herself beamed brightly, pink cardigan and beret slightly rumpled over her figure as her orb-like eyes darted over them all, annoyance peaking through her strained smile.

Draco wrinkled his nose at her, pondering on how things would've been had he simply gone to Durmstrang rather than putting up with this nonsense and regretfully acknowledging that it was no longer an option; his mother would lose herself if he started studying at a school reputed for teaching the Dark Arts now that the Dark Lord was back and recruiting - a Death Eater was a potential future she had never liked for him, not that her opinion really made a difference.

Nearby, Blaise sipped from a mug of ink black coffee, inconspicuously moving away from a heart-eyed Millicent Bulstrode who was clearly hoping he would let her rest her head on his shoulder if she pretended to be sleepy. Draco's mind slipped to Pansy's constant nabs for his attention and he shuddered, grateful for the presence of the ten people separating her from him.

He yawned, eyes flitting to the other side of the Hall where Weasley and Granger's hard-to-miss heads were swivelling desperately at the Gryffindor table as if searching for someone, faces oddly pale and stricken with what, even at such a distance, was loud and worried fear.

He frowned, hurriedly following their gazes up and down the disgruntled Gryffindors to see what they were looking for and, with an airy joy, realised why they were so worried; Potter was nowhere to be found on the benches.

His stomach did an excited swoop at the realisation - this had to be the end of Harry Potter, the idiot's expulsion was something even someone as foggy-eyed about the future as Sybill Trelawney couldn't miss, he was sure if it.

He smirked knowingly when his gaze met Weasley's, the anxiety in the other's eyes turning to intense dislike, and held the contact for a second before looking away and peering at the teachers' table instead, mind racing as he wondered whether Professor Snape had noticed. He had made to raise his eyebrows at the man only to find that his chair had been vacated.

The image of the writhing Dark Mark, soot-black and permanent on his father's arm, was something Draco couldn't have stopped from entering his mind if he had tried and frankly, he hadn't - this was good news, was it not, the fact that minutes after Potter's disappearance, the only Death Eater in the castle had too?

Before he could formulate an answer, the _thud_ of the Hall's doors closing sounded under Filch's bleach-worn hands; Dolores Umbridge had risen from her seat.

"_Hem hem_," she began and Blaise to choked on his coffee. Draco stifled a laugh but let a grin appear as he thumped Blaise's back, thinking that things could only get better from now onwards - he knew it like he knew the feel of his wand in his hands or of gold in his pockets; the universe had taken an undeniable turn in Draco Malfoy's favour tonight.

———

But Merlin forbid if it could do the same for Sirius Black.

"SIRIUS!"

"_Argh_!"

For a fleeting second, Sirius thought he was dying, and he wondered in panic if he had turned off the stove after his miserable attempt to bake cookies this evening: perhaps some Death Eater had shown up without his knowledge, seen the smoking oven, and had gotten the idea of a quick and easy explosion to kill him, which was admittedly quite a pathetic way to die, but then his head met the ground and fireworks of pain burst in it, his previously weightless insides becoming less so as he realised the floor was still very solid in its place under his back. Swearing profusely, he struggled to his feet and wrestled out of the tablecloth, wondering who had been mad enough to yell so loudly in Grimmauld Place.

Wincing at the newly-formed bump on the back of his head, Sirius clambered down the stairs and into the hallway where his mother's portrait screeched with hair-raising agony, a short figure with bubblegum-pink hair pulling uselessly at the curtains that had previously been draped over her. Of course, it was Tonks; only someone related to the Blacks could be crazy enough to shout in this house. She waved cheerily and mouthed a 'hi' when he entered, face flushed and hair spikier than ever. On the wall to her right, Great Uncle Arcturus yanked out his hearing aid and chucked it at the rim of his picture frame, giving Sirius poisonous looks as he half-heartedly returned the greeting and the two cousins attempted to quiet the menace of a portrait, Sirius resisting the urge to slash it with a knife like he had the Fat Lady's two years ago.

"FILTH, BLOODTRAITORS, SCOUNDRELS STAINING THE NAME OF MY FATHERS!"

It was a few minutes before the house returned to silence, the echoes of Walburga's tormented existence as a painting gradually leaving it.

"Phew," Tonks exhaled, grinning broadly as she wiped sweat from her forehead. A tiny gemstone earring glinted on her ear lobe, a wizarding take on the once popular Muggle mood rings of the 70's, its yellow colour vibrant against the decaying green shades of the wall paper - his mum's screaming had clearly done nothing to dampen Tonks's mood. "Your Mum really must've been something."

"Don't remind me," Sirius murmured, massaging his temples as the pair left for the kitchen, unanimously agreeing that a cup of tea was in order. "D'you mind telling me why you thought yelling my name here at midnight was an okay thing to do?"

She smirked.

"Don't you dare," he warned, not in the mood for dirty humour at the moment, glowering at her to make sure she knew it. "We're cousins, for hell's sake!"

"Fine, fine," she nodded, "But tea first - this is a long story -"

"- and you want to do it justice."

"Who gave you permission to finish my sentences?" she retorted, rubbing her eyes as she dropped into a nearby chair and balanced it on its hind legs, feet propped on the dining table. "Less tea, more fire whiskey though, I'm feeling celebratory."

"Right."

Three minutes later, he was seated beside her, involuntarily eyeing the fireplace from which Harry had talked to him about James not too long ago. He picked up one of Uncle Cygnus's swirly cups and sipped, bidding any sleep he could've salvaged tonight goodbye.

"Alright," began Tonks, pulling out a grey hat from her lap and plopping it on her head, the ugly violet feather on it falling over her face.

"Where did you get that from?" Sirius asked, mildly amused, staring at the plastic beads glittering on the rim.

"Your attic, didn't know your family were a trendy bunch," she sipped, pinky sticking out so her teacup shook. "It's my story-telling hat now."

"They weren't," he corrected. "My father used to go after Muggles who annoyed him in his youth, he kept souvenirs."

Tonks winced, lowering her teacup. She took off the hat and threw it across the room like a frisbee, looking torn between disappointment and surprise.

"Jeez," she frowned, "does everything have to be so intense with you guys?"

"You missed the worst of it," Sirius said honestly. Indeed, this had been just one of many such examples of the 'intensity' involving members of the Unstable and Most Mentally-draining House of Black. "Anyways," he tilted his still throbbing head, "care to tell me why you interrupted my much needed rest in the first place?"

"Oi," Tonks wagged a finger at him, mock disapproval on her face, "we're supposed to be celebrating right now - I just did something amazing."

"You could've brought cake then," he countered.

"Shut up, you can bake some yourself."

"You should've seen my cookies this evening."

"Cookies?"

"Burnt. Buckbeak liked them though."

"Damn it," she deflated slightly before perking up almost as quickly. "I found out something yesterday."

She unzipped her dark leather jacket, an assortment of makeshift handkerchief pockets sown on the inside, face lighting up as she sought the right one. Sirius knew better than to comment - Tonks's odd fashion choice was something he would've familiarised with at one point - and settled with taking in the various designs instead. Here and there he'd spot a silk handkerchief, followed by a tartan one, and then peony patterns - he almost did a double take when he spotted one with tabby kittens on it, all with very familiar spectacle markings around their eyes. "So you remember that picture I showed you?" Tonks asked. "Of that house? The one I found outside your brother's room?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I know whose place it is!" She flourished the photograph from a bowtruckle-patterned pocket, slamming it on the tabletop in her excitement - despite her mother's hopes, the woman had clearly inherited the Black dramatic flair. "I asked Mum about it, kind of as a last resort. She -"

But before she could finish, a surly voice issued from behind them.

"_Nymphadora._"

They jumped, Tonks whirling around in irritation at the name. Sirius instinctively looked to the fireplace but found it grey and ashy as ever, gaze veering up instead to see that a shapeless Patronus had appeared in the doorway.

"_Go to the Hall of Prophecy,_" the Patronus went on, Snape's low tone ill-fitting with its silvery grace. "_Potter and Longbottom are missing._"

There was a wet clatter as Sirius's hands lost their grip on the teacup, brown pooling over the table and falling with a steady _drip drip_ to the floor. He drew his wand, knuckles white and stiff around it, his movements fluid in his break for the front door, desperation and determination flooding his mind, both propelling him forward none too differently. A rush of blood surged in his head, bringing fear with it, the familiar effects of adrenaline causing him an unsolicited feeling of excitement - he almost looked over his shoulder to see if James had begun running after him yet.

But then a jet of light hit him from behind, and the world went dark, his feet numbing mid-step so he crashed and sprawled onto the floor. The last thing he saw were the floorboards he had so loved running on as a child, Regulus's whoops of joy as Kreacher chased them drowning out the elf's requests that they give back his wooden spoon. He found himself wondering whether Harry had ever had that growing up ...

———

It took Tonks a second to realise what she had done after she had done it. Her cousin lay unconscious at her feet, wand inches from his fingers, black hair flung out beneath him. Her anger at being called her birth-name had dissolved and guilt shrouded her instead, wand hiding as if it were ashamed in her pocket.

Almost like a recording, Remus Lupin's words played in her head, promises Tonks had made that she hadn't quite prepared herself to keep but done so anyway - her cousin's form on the floor a testament to the deed.

"_Don't let him out of that house, please._" How wary and desperate he had been when he had pleaded with her to take his friend's life in her hands if she could because "_he'll die for me, Tonks. For Harry. And he deserves more than that_."

And she had agreed, he hadn't asked her to die for him after all, Tonks laughing grimly because it was true - Sirius Black deserved better, infinitely more so than what he had gotten, and now she would have to go after him and stop him from dying every time something went wrong (and _Merlin_, did things go _wrong_) and he tried to help (despite the world thinking him a crazed killer) so he could get everything he had been compromised for so long and ashamed as she was to admit it, it was also mostly because Remus Lupin had asked her to.

The sight of him wrapped up in a shabby jumper, eating a bowl of dreadful, soggy corn flakes after a difficult moon would never leave Tonks's memories, the remnants of rouge slashes across his young face telling more stories of anguish than she had heard throughout her life. He hadn't said it but she knew he'd requested this because he'd been unable to envision any more transformations without any of his school friends by his side, with no one to call him 'Moony' and tell him it was fine now, that he was _not_ a monster no matter how much he stressed that he was. And she had been fine with it, really.

What Tonks had been unable to disclose to him had been, she mused, that she too would willingly die for him, would take a Killing Curse to the face if it meant he could live one more day, miserably if he had to, dredging each minute by in hollow apathy even, just so he could watch the sun overtake one more full moon with a blanket on his back and someone to give him chocolate and coffee because _Merlin_, she was Nymphadora Tonks and she was madly in love with Remus Lupin, an absolute prat who couldn't see himself beyond the bite on his shoulder to the gilded soul that he was.

It was then that it truly hit Tonks how grey a quality loyalty was, the picture of loud, sarcastic Sirius Black knocked out on the floor assuring her of it - loyalty was no different than bravery or intelligence or whatever ideology it was that Slytherin stood for, that kind, just Hufflepuff didn't necessarily equate to good because 'just' changed from person to person, from Sirius, who wanted to fight, to Remus, who made sure he wouldn't, not until the mass-murderer label was out of the picture at least.

Frowning, she stepped onto the doorstep of Number Twelve and gripped her wand. She had a feeling that Mad-Eye would give her a grunt of approval for her actions - _"Thick skin's armour and easier to shed, the Slytherins got one thing right,_" he would have reminded her.

In a crack, she vanished, the house behind her stuffed into the compartment of her mind reserved for the soon-to-be future, tears pricking her eyes only for the suffocation of Apparition to force them away.

———

_January, 1982._

_A quiet, musty night never meant no one was in pain._

_"Keep screaming, love, no one's going to hear you!"_

_Cold, hard laughter rang against the walls of the house, but not outside, the woman's crooked and wicked wand wreaking havoc on Alice's__ body, her terrified baby swaddled in his cradle and sniffling quietly upstairs, unable to stem the tears streaming hotly down his cheeks. His hands were balled into fists, devoid of defiance but teeming with confusion, terror, and yearning for the embrace and warmth he had been promised just hours ago, the twinkle in his huge eyes reflecting fear while an unexplainable instinct kept his lips sealed, refusing to let more than an inaudible whimper escape his mouth._

_But his mother's mind felt like melting __iron, her skin sizzling with electric pain as if needles were being pushed into it one after another. She felt around for her husband's hand but found only more pain when a boot stamped on her fingers, the blood losing its wetness as the curse shot through her __again, her throat soon feeling like a hollow where words had once formed, a lullaby had been sung, a spell had puffed up the foamy cream on her tea to cotton candy-like life again ..._

_Alice Longbottom had been in pain before but not like this, never like this ... never so horrible that she had trouble remembering who she was ..._

_And it was over before she could recapture the memory._

_The diamond from the wedding band adorning her bloody finger had rolled into her palm at some point, whispers and fleeting thoughts the only thing intact in her head now, the silence sending pangs of fear through her like the first church bells after a funeral. __She couldn't bring herself to try to find out where she was - in the dark and shadowy room, no one, if they were there, had done__ anything to help her off the floor thus far - so it must've been better to stay on the ground, safer, perhaps._

_White light from who knew where flashed on the ceiling at regular intervals through the open window, a vague green tint to it, dry, leafy breezes blowing in and tapping the glass, an almost serene aura to the dust they carried. She stared at the ceiling, a lovely chandelier unfitting for the pain she was feeling swaying unlit and graceful above her, wind chimes occasionally daring to sing in the silence. Her __fingertips were cold and her dress felt like it belonged on a much younger woman, a happier one, she imagined, perhaps lovingly married and successful, her nails painted peach and void of dried blood in the crescents and her hair braided with flowers to one side rather than the matted mess that cushioned__ her head._

_Maybe she would return the dress to the woman someday, she thought miserably._

_She wove in and out of consciousness, the white light becoming less prominent each time as the sky outside lightened, tardily transitioning from a pale blue to a washed out gold as she blinked and opened her eyes, each minute jumbling her thoughts further._

_Out of nowhere, the sound of a baby crying reached her ears and she felt anxiety pricking up her legs, trying to place why it was making her feel this way. Was the child all right? Why was no one going to comfort it? Where were its parents? Was it being hurt too?_

_When no answers came and the cries persisted, she forced herself to get up, wincing at the aches pinching her body. She limped__ up the stairs, her__ feet seeming to physically resist the action__, she feeling like an utter stranger in the house but doing her best to remain quiet nevertheless, not wanting to disturb any sleeping inhabitants - what would they do to her if they heard? - although it was nearly morning by now._

_Eventually, she located the room, opening the door to find a red-faced baby sobbing in a cradle, stopping when he caught sight of her. She smiled, faltering slightly as a streak of pain caused her to grab the wall for support._

_"M - mama?" the child sniffled, hiccoughing. The curtains were drawn, refusing the weak, early sunlight entry, and she supposed she must've resembled his mother for he showed no resistance when she walked up to him and wiped the wetness from his face with her clean hand, thumbing his cheeks softly._

_"There, there," she comforted hoarsely, hardly registering how tired she was now - the child's eyes were a pair she could swear held magic, losing her discomfort in their innocent depths as he stared into hers. "Mama will be here soon, don't worry."_

_Just then, the door was flung open so hard it ricocheted off the wall opposite, a tall figure silhouetted in its entryway as lamps flared up of their own accord all around them, causing the pair to shield their eyes from the glow. It was a woman, her hair greying and a few wrinkles marking her skin, a stick held aloft in her hand and distress written on her face._

_"Alice?"_

_The whisper caused her to look around, checking if there had been someone here whom she had missed, but__ there was no one here apart from them._

_"Sorry?" she prompted as the child began crying again, this time loud and with snot trickling from his nose, cheeks reddening almost as soon as the first wail escaped. __But the older woman didn't respond, a single tear sliding down her face as her knees bent and she leaned on the doorway, gasping through heavy sobs while the stick rolled forgotten by her feet, the picture of defeat and hopelessness in all that humans could be._

_She couldn't help but wonder who Alice was._

———

For a moment, Bellatrix heard Frank Longbottom in his son's cries of pain, the writhing figure on the ground resembling another in a way she could never have anticipated it would, his hands curled into tight fists as if waiting to hit the instant the opportunity arrived (like that would make anything better) and in a fraction of this time, she felt a tingle of indescribable remorse, of sinful, human guilt.

Then she laughed, the act causing Malfoy to shoot her a disturbed look and Dolohov to avert his gaze, the rest gladly ignoring her, and like the moonlit silence of her cell in Azkaban before the dementors rattled by, it was gone.

She almost wished Potter wouldn't come tonight.


End file.
